


he's in my arms now

by Barbaara_Babaar



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Steve Harrington, Conflict Resolution, Crying During Sex, Emotional Sex, Fighting, Hate to Love, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Steve Harrington-centric, Top Billy Hargrove, billy can be soft, just dudes bein gay, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 12:36:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20008408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbaara_Babaar/pseuds/Barbaara_Babaar
Summary: Steve Harrington never thought he'd see the inside of a cop car...





	he's in my arms now

**Author's Note:**

> i usually love "bottom billy" but alas, he seems more outwardly dominant, especially when he's not experienced with his partner. so here is this garbage fire. i hope i wrote them true to character!

Steve Harrington never thought he’d see the inside of a cop car. 

His entire life, he was good. His mom calls him a good boy; Nancy calls him “The Star Student” to poke fun at the way he kissed the ass of every teacher he's ever had; even Hopper, who now stares annoyed at him in the rearview mirror, expresses admiration for his responsibility often enough to make Steve’s heart clench. He’s not the type to be arrested. Truly. 

Yet here he is, in a cop car. Next to Billy Hargrove. 

Hopper had found them dueling it out big-boy style over something Steve doesn’t recall, bruised, bloody, and trembling with adrenaline. When he ordered them to cut it out, Billy just smirked and drove his fist farther into Steve’s stomach. He was buzzing with bloodlust. It wasn't scary though. Far from it. 

_“Hey!”_ Hopper looked close to livid. Even his mustache was angry. “Get in the car! _Now!”_

Steve was reluctant. He definitely deserved reluctancy. _“He started it,”_ he said ( _very childishly_ , he now recalls). _“Why the fuck am_ I _in trouble?”_

 _“Just get in, kid,”_ Hopper said. He had looked incredibly pissed-off reaching for Steve’s shoulder, opening the car door, and shoving him inside. Now, he looks…well, he looks just as angry. Maybe slightly more disappointed. Enough to press on a tenderness in Steve's heart. 

He says, “Why do you boys always do this?” Accompanies it with a gruff sigh. Disappointed. 

Beside him, Billy cackles deviously. _Like a bitch._ “I dunno.” 

“You _don’t know?”_ Steve’s teeth clench so hard his jaw pops. “You’re always starting fights and shit! You should know because it’s _your fault.”_

“I can’t fight alone, Harrington.” 

His patronizing grin makes Steve’s blood boil, and his cheeks flair red. _I can’t fight alone, Harrington,_ Steve mocks in his head. _Maybe you should try then, Hargrove. Get out of my hair. Fight yourself for once._

He has to force himself to look away. _Get out of my hair. Get out of my hair. Get out of my head._

Hopper pulls up to Steve’s driveway, and his mustache curls downward in a dissatisfied frown. He gets out heavily and, grunting, opens the car door. 

“I don’t wanna see any of this bullshit again, okay?” 

“Okay,” Steve says. He exhales sharply. _He'll_ cut the bullshit when _Billy_ does. 

_“Okay?”_

“Yeah, yeah, okay!” 

Billy meets his eyes through the open car door and, sneering, says, “Hey, Hop? I think it’s the most _beneficial_ to us if Steve drives me home instead. It’ll give us a chance to…sort everything out.” 

A chill runs down the back of Steve’s neck and across his arms, ice cold and wicked. He wants to object so bad, but when Hop looks at him questioningly, he chokes up. At the worst possible time to lose confidence. 

“I…” He combs his hair back nonchalantly. “Yeah.” 

_“Yeah?”_ Hopper sounds as suspicious as Steve feels. When Steve meets his eyes, he nods. “Yeah, okay. But if I have to come break you guys up _one more time-”_

“Yeah, yeah, we get it.” Billy says. 

Billy walks through the door first, walks as if he’s been there before. He’s confident. Almost glowing, he’s so confident. And his cologne, frostbitten and woodsy, makes Steve’s eyes water. He hasn't been inside for a whole minute yet and already he's overwhelmed. 

Upon looking half-consciously at the back of his neck, Steve wonders what he does to keep his skin so clear and so tan, if it’s some routine or 100% all-natural Billy. Billy emulates naturality–this being organic would make sense–but he isn't trustworthy, Steve knows that much.

Inexplicably, he wants it to just be how he is. 

“You’ve gotta nice place, Harrington. It’s clean,” Billy says. Brings Steve back to the moment by patting his shoulder roughly. 

At that, Steve does the most visible jump he could possibly _not_ hope for. The spot Billy just touched fucking burns like a lit match, nearly as hot as Steve’s face. It's indistinguishable from a nasty sunburn. Turns him just as red. 

“Yeah,” Steve says. He has to take a minute to force his fists to unclench. “My parents keep it really clean.” 

“Thought they weren’t around enough to keep it anything.” 

Okay, this was definitely a terrible idea. Steve wants to fuck up his face.

“Fuck you, Hargrove. At least my dad’s doesn't-” 

“Get me a glass of water, would ‘ya?” 

_At least my dad doesn’t beat me,_ Steve wants to yell out through his frustration. _At least my mom’s alive and still fucking cares about me. Right, Billy?_ Something stops him, though. Something that could be that minuscule thought–one in a dark little corner of his brain–that his dad doesn’t care enough to beat him, and his mom wouldn’t look at him if he set himself on fire. And that Billy already knows all that. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

He trudges to the kitchen halfheartedly. _“Get me a glass of water, would ‘ya?”_ he mimics under his breath. “I’ll get you a glass of fucking water, Hargrove. Right in the-” 

“Say anything, King Steve?” 

“No!” 

Steve turns the sink on, and insults him more. 

Filled glass in hand, he walks back to the living room, where Billy has already made himself comfortable. His legs are splayed out across the leather couch half-suggestively. It brings sweat to his collar only _b_ _ecause he shouldn’t be sitting on his couch like he owns the place._

Billy takes the glass. He’s got rings on his fingers that must have made some painful bruises, and his knuckles are purple. It looks agonizing, but Billy stays calm and keeps his tough-guy face on. That's Steve's least favorite face of his. 

“Why’d you wanna come here anyway?” 

From the looks of, Billy is just as unsure as Steve. He shrugs, a stupid, smug look on his face, and leans back in his chair. “Is there anything wrong with wanting to see The King?” 

Steve huffs. “Shut up with that, will you? That was never a thing!” 

“Oh, it definitely was.” Billy cackles maniacally. _“King Steve. King_ of Hawkins High; _my hero!”_ He completes the dumpster fire with a theatrical clasping of his hands. “Save me now!”

“I will literally kill you.” 

But they’re both laughing and for some weird, masochistic reason, Steve doesn’t want him to die. He doesn’t even want him to leave. Billy is _fun._ Not just to fight. 

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop,” he says. Pulls out a handkerchief out of his pocket and tosses it at Steve’s feet. 

Steve puts on his best “ _are you a fucking idiot?_ ” face. “The fuck is that?” 

Billy giggles. It’s the kind of giggle you’d hear from a world-class serial killer just before he slits your throat. Totally not cute. “The towel.” 

“You’re _so_ fucking dumb.” 

“And I’m still sitting on _your_ couch in your mommy’s mansion.”

That brings an uncomfortable bout of silence to the room. One that’s heavy and thick, makes breathing difficult. And Steve doesn’t like tension, so he chooses some completely and totally random thing to take his mind off of it: staring at Billy. 

Today, he must have been on lifeguard duty because there are little marks on his golden skin where sunglasses sit on his face, half-circles right below his eyes. His lips are vivid pink, which brings out the even more vivid blue of his eyes. Stubble scatters his chin and jaw, but he makes it work. Even in the dark while he's throwing punches. 

He makes everything work. It's frustrating. 

“What’re you lookin’ at, Steve?” 

“What?” 

“I said, _‘what’re you lookin’ at?’”_

He doesn’t know why, but Billy's accusation isn’t what Steve’s drawn to. He should be embarrassed at being caught, or at least defensive, and yet all he can think is-

“You called me Steve.” 

“So?” Momentarily, Billy looks annoyed, probably at Steve’s _dumb fac_ e. Definitely at his dumb face. Then, he meets his eyes. “Oh.” 

_“‘Oh?’_ That’s it?” 

Billy grins so hard Steve wants to rip his throat out. Make him stop. He can't do that to him, smile like that. “You like when I call you that?” 

“What, my name? Yeah. Yeah, actually I prefer that.” 

“No.” He leans in close enough for Steve to count his eyelashes and the faded freckles splattered across his forehead and down his nose. “You _like_ when I call you that. Don’t you, Steve?” 

They’re inches apart, and Billy’s hand is falling tentatively to Steve’s hip, and Steve is _letting it._ And it feels really, really good. It makes his stomach boil and the tips of his ears tingle.

There truly isn’t a reasonable explanation for why, as Billy makes a sharp beeline for his lips, he melts in his arms. _Am I drunk?_ he thinks hurriedly. _Did Billy drug me?_ There isn't anything else it could be. Steve doesn't like Billy. Steve doesn't like Billy. Steve doesn't like Billy. 

“Steve.” 

His heart stops. 

“You haven’t shown me your bedroom yet.” Steve’s lip catches on Billy’s sharp canine. He thinks he must be going crazy. 

“Up the stairs, down the hall, to the left.” 

“I’m not good with directions. Why don’t you show me.” 

"Stop trying to be flirtatious." Steve doesn't want him to stop. His cliché attempts at romancing him are nice. He's never nice. 

"I'm not trying, dipshit."

He is. 

Romance doesn't matter to Steve. They're still both overcome with bubbly, childish excitement. As they stumble up the stairs, tripping over their own feet, Steve’s head floats like a helium balloon. He bites his lip until it’s numb, just in the time it takes him to reach his room, and his eyes dart side-to-side tenuously. 

The lust Steve feels is diluted, squeezes his throat. He sees the same in Billy–his blown out pupils and flushed face. His mind feels miles away, and he's still hard. 

_I wonder if Billy's as hard as me,_ he thinks. He looks away again. 

“This is your room, huh?” Billy leans sideways in a grave attempt to meet his eyes. Of course he comes up short. “Not what I expected from you.” 

Steve scoffs. “What did you expect?” 

“Tits.” 

No matter what he says, hearing Billy talk brings a rush of white noise to Steve’s head. _Tits,_ he thinks. Not exactly what he wants to be thinking about right now. He’d rather be reminded of anything “Billy.” His long eyelashes– _never seen them that long on a boy_ –and golden curls and _fuck,_ the way Billy’s looking at him makes him want to cry. Tits don't do that. 

“I’m not that gross, Hargrove. Who do you think I am?” 

Putting up a fight with Billy here doesn’t make him less nervous–frustratingly, because it always does. When Billy corners him against his bed and says, _“don’t call me that,”_ his heart just about explodes. He's never wanted to be this submissive, still doesn't really _._ It's disconcerting and scary. 

He can’t help but think this is a bad idea. 

That is, until Billy leans in close enough to devour and kisses him. It’s heavy and wet and Steve can’t get enough of it. Their lack of experience with each other only makes it better, somehow. More sensual. More fucked up and rosy. Lit up like the tip of the cigarettes he smokes whenever Billy's around just to keep himself busy. 

Billy says, “wanna suck your dick.” So dirty and slimy and _raunchy_ it makes Steve’s stomach churn. _Yes. Yes yes yes yes yes._

“I- I’m- _Yeah_.” 

“Lie down.” 

“What?” 

“I’m not kneeling like a _girl_ , Steve.” He pulls of his tank top and grins at him. “Lie down.” 

Arguing with Billy always left them both bruised, bloody, smiling. Hard, one time. Billy, more than anyone, gets off on the fight in a way that always made Steve wonder if he was a sadist. Avoiding an argument is the obvious answer. It makes his heart climb its way to his throat, but it's fine. It's safer. 

Lying down feels ridiculous in his overwhelming excitement. Very overwhelming. He can’t even look at Billy as he tugs his pants down and lets his dick lie hard and needy on his stomach. 

The last time anyone touched him, he was still in high school and too high to feel anything. _Sexual frustration_ doesn't seem like a strong enough way to describe how he’s been feeling for the past year. 

If he was more comfortable with Billy, he would tell what he wanted, tell him to _kiss and bite and suck_ on every part of his body _._ Force his eyes back into his skull. The thought makes him tremble with want and _guilt_ because he should never be dominated by anyone. He can't. It isn't _him_ _._

It was too soon to tell if it was Billy too. 

Up until this point, they were not close. Unless they were lying side-by-side after an especially brutal fight, they never sought to explore deeper relationships. Steve wishes he had the will to. 

Billy’s breath is heavy as he trails his nose down Steve’s stomach. Opens his mouth against his navel and grabs his hips with strong hands. _Fuck,_ if Steve didn’t have a thing for Billy’s hands, he does now. 

And holy shit, was he missing out before. Billy whispers a, _“so wet already”_ and pops the head of his cock in his mouth and it _hurts,_ it’s so good. He can’t stop himself from snapping his hips up just once to meet those pink lips. Watch his cock go all the way in. 

Still, he tells him to shut up. "I'm not a fucking girl." 

"You're wet like one." 

"That's so- ugh, so fuckin' gross." 

"So fuckin' true, more like." 

Billy’s tongue is truly something special. The way he flicks it up his dick when he bobs back up to the top and flattens it when he goes down. It’s scorching hot. Burns holes in him. Makes him feel so, _so_ good. 

Getting a blowjob from Billy feels like fucking a girl, and Steve can’t tell if that’s a good thing. Billy isn’t a girl. He’s pretty like one– _so pretty–_ but just _not._

He forces himself to look down at him to make sure he hasn’t been hallucinating this whole time and _oh God,_ is he stunned. There’s Billy, staring right up at him with shiny eyes, a devious smirk reflecting off of them, sucking him like a fucking popsicle. It makes a whine–high and girly–lodge itself in his throat. It takes everything in him to keep it in its place. He can't believe himself. 

His clear strain only makes Billy’s grin grow, which consequently makes his sharp lower canine graze the sensitive underside of his cock. Steve nearly gags. 

Feeling Billy’s lips tighten as he slowly pulls off his cock sends a tight shock through his lower belly. Billy notices. Of course he does; Steve is anything but subtle.

“So,” he says casually, “you want me to be on top or do you want to?” 

_Top?_

Steve stares at Billy, confused as he gets all up in his face again. _On top,_ he thinks. _On top of me? Like when a girl rides me?_ He scoffs. Hopefully covers up his ignorance. “I don’t know.” 

That makes Billy’s eyes darken. He plants his elbows on either side of Steve’s head and looks down at him. “Are you serious?” 

“Fuck you, asshole, it’s not like I’ve ever had to choose. Which one’s better?” 

To make matters worse, Billy _laughs._ “You _are_ serious.” He leans in close enough to suck Steve's soul out and says, “You really haven’t had anything in your ass before? Never even stuck a few fingers up there?” 

Steve scoffs again for the billionth time and uses the rest of his willpower to turn away from Billy’s lips. “Why would I just _do_ that? Like, _‘oh, you know what would feel good? Jamming a finger in right where I shit.’_ No!” 

Instead of getting that usual burst of Billy Rage, he gets another laugh, and a surprised one at that. Like he’s teasing him in the nicest way he can. Trying to save something in him, his gold-plated sliver of sanity _._ “Okay.” His voice is teasing too, the fluffy tip of a feather. “I’m gonna put it in you then. Usually I like that, so you’re getting the better one. God, you’re not gonna fuckin’ believe this.” 

And maybe Steve shouldn’t be believing it just like Billy said, but all he can think is _oh my God oh my God Billy likes it up the ass._ For something that makes every muscle in his body tense, he has a way of adding an allure to it. He’s like that with everything; so inexplicably hot. 

Yet all Steve can say is, “Hey, I was asking ‘cause I was gonna let you have the better one.” 

“Such a gentleman. Sucks to suck, doesn't it?” 

"Remind me why I'm doing this please."

It all feels so awkward, like losing your virginity when you’re sixteen and don’t know where to start. But this time, _Steve_ is the blushing girl and Billy is the strong boy who’s nice enough to not get upset when his legs glue shut (on the contrary, the red in his cheeks tells Steve he finds it bafflingly _endearing)._ He just grabs his knees and shimmies them down until they’re lying tense on the bed. Patient in a way that makes Steve’s eyes burn, with not a trace of violence left in his fingertips.

He squirts lube on his fingers and doesn’t wait until it warms up before shoving the tip of his finger inside. _So much for patient._ Steve jerks in discomfort. That something can feel so _weird_ is unfathomable. It’s not bad, but it’s not good. Definitely not good. His ass might as well be screaming at him to get away from the humongous intrusion of Billy's finger. His brain sure is. 

“How is it?” Billy says. As each second passes he slides his finger in further and further until it’s knuckle-deep and Steve can’t breathe. 

“I think…I hate it? Is it supposed to feel like shitting in reverse?” 

A second finger joins the first, splits him in half. Burning as Billy fucks them slowly in and out, adds more lube at the base of them, and then starts spreading them as far apart as they can go. He exhales weakly when Steve’s lips part. “Maybe at first,” he says.

Steve doesn't understand how Billy likes this. 

And then his middle finger circles something inside of him that makes his eyes shoot open, forces a high sound to twist around in his throat. It brings an absolutely _evil_ look to Billy’s face. _Okay, wow.  
_

“Still hate it?” 

“Obviously not, you fucking- _fuck._ ” 

In a stroke of chaotic genius, Billy stops and, just as Steve’s about to complain, begins rubbing at that spot head on. Rubbing it with his big fingers. Shoots blue-grey flames out of them until Steve's insides are melted.

When he bends down to suck on his nipple at the same time, it’s all so intense Steve can’t help spasming out of Billy’s hold. He thinks he kicked him. His legs close again. Fucking _ow._

Apparently, _fucking ow_ was one of the many things Steve couldn’t keep in because Billy says, “oh my God is this _hurting_ you?" Not the slightest bit concerned judging by the maniacal smile spreading on his face. 

Steve can _feel_ himself sweating. “No, no. It feels… _shit!_ _Stop,_ you're killing me, here. _"_

“You said ‘ _ow_.’” There’s a hint of laughter in his buttery voice. 

“It surprised me. I've never done this before. Take a hint.” 

Billy's never been able to take a hint before, but now its importance slips away as his breath is on his face and he’s going in for an open-mouthed kiss that Steve doesn't want to back out of. “ _It’s really strong, ain’t it Steve?”_ he says between breaths, and nips at his tongue. He's not sure he can even uncross his eyes at this point.

He takes his frantic nod as a plea to go harder and faster. The pit of his stomach hollows and _aches_ and he can feel his cock leaking over his stomach. _Billy was right,_ he thinks pitifully. _It's strong._ _It hurts so bad._ The kind of hurt that makes warmth rush down from his head to his toes. It glitters.

When his fingers slow, their kiss deepens so much it nearly drowns. Billy cradles his head with his free arm and twirls his hair around his finger. That's what makes Steve moan deeper than anything else they’d done. Everything's turned casual and comfortable in a way that makes his pleasure feel safe. 

But it doesn't last long. Everything slows when Billy says, "When I put my dick in you, it won't be that strong." 

Actually getting fucked didn’t seem to be part of the plan until now. Until Billy bites his jaw hard enough to leave imprints and calls him _baby_ so quiet he almost can’t hear it. His heart hammers against his ribs. Fuck Billy for making him shake like a leaf, all embarrassing and embarrassed. Fuck him. 

This is the meekest he's ever been, and he hates it. 

Steve says, “wanna test that theory?” Too confident, like he isn’t about to bend over for him. Bend forward from the looks of it.

To that he gets two hands on his face and a tongue in his mouth. A demonic cackle from Billy as he slips the head of his cock into Steve. That son of a bitch _knows_ it stings. He might as well be tearing in half. Billy's dick feels huge and intrusive and it’s barely all the way in. 

And then it is. The minute he bottoms out, Steve’s back arches off the mattress and then his face is wet and he’s crying for no goddamn fucking reason. He can’t breathe or think or do anything but feel how big Billy is and how he’s throbbing inside him. He's moving farther away from himself with every tear that rolls down his face. 

Billy freezes; he can feel that much. 

"What the fuck?" he says. 

"Why are you crying?" he says. 

Steve can't breathe. 

It’s humiliating. He’s _humiliated._ So red and raw it hurts to touch. But he’s never felt something so intimate and invasive in his life. He's never felt so vulnerable. He’s bruised with his feelings, and Billy can tell and fuck, he's crying during sex. Crying like a pussy. Letting himself crack open all the way like a fucking idiot. 

But then the world stops, and he blanks out. It stops when Billy's hand curls itself into his hair. It stops when he swallows loud enough to hear and shakes his head, or maybe–probably–his hair out of his eyes. It stops when Billy lets his face fall next to Steve's, lets his body rest over him, and wraps his free arm loosely around his shoulder. 

Whether or not he's still crying, Steve can't tell. He only feels Billy on him. In him. Pulling as hard as he can to get Steve out of his head. 

"I'm sorry," Steve says. He can barely breathe. It comes out croaky and _stupid_ but Billy doesn't seem to care. 

_"Steve,_ _"_ he whispers. His breath is hot against his neck. " _It's okay."_

In that moment, Billy pulled hard enough. 

He draws away so he's back above Steve and smirks at him. It's forced, Steve can tell, but he likes how normal it feels. Likes when Billy pats his cheek a little too hard and then leans down and fucking _licks_ a tear right off his face. Does it with the widest grin Steve had ever seen. 

That doesn’t do well to aid with his intense mortification. Definitely not. So _not helpful_ that when Billy tries to kiss him, he whips his head to the side. “Stop,” he says. Lying. Trying to sound gruffer so everything will be okay. 

“Lemme kiss you.” 

Weirdly enough, Billy sounds imploring. He stares down at Steve with hooded eyes, quaking, putting on a mean face to mask it. He's just as vulnerable as Steve. Steve figures he doesn't like it either, but he doesn't care because Billy looks so pretty when he’s open.

And he must be a mind reader too, because just as soon as it’s there, that fragility is gone. He hardens up, right along with his eyes; two sturdy mountains Steve doesn't feel grounded enough to climb. He moves his hands from Steve’s face down to his shoulders. 

“Well, I’m gonna keep going. Tell me if you want me to stop,” Billy says. As if he wishes he had never been gentle in the first place. But his expression is one of confliction.

Billy is definitely one to pretend not to care about things. He pretends not to care about his dad beating him (he never told Steve, but it’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?), about Max, about what people think of his stupid, beautiful hair, but Steve? He had always seemed to genuinely _not give a shit._

But now his cock is buried deep inside him and his pressing their foreheads together as he fucks into him, tender and giving. _Not like Billy Hargrove would._ At least, not like the one Steve thought he knew inside and out from his insults alone. 

That was really stupid of him, thinking those things. 

Steve can feel his cock rubbing against Billy’s stomach, sliding between the crease of his abs. Lubed up with his pleasure. The friction makes it hard not to come right there, underneath him, screaming like he’s in a porno. He's thankful he's able to keep all those sounds in his throat in favor of sounding _manly._ A part of him just wishes he was that bold. 

_“Billy,”_ he says. Moans it out unstably. He’s a breathy, blotchy, tear-stained mess, so gross-looking it's a wonder Billy's still hard. He’s the pussy being fucked, the whiny girl with bouncy tits who gets wet from a fucking kiss. His cock is red and swollen and so sore that when Billy grabs it, he needs to bite the inside of his cheek to hold in a whine. 

They’re so close, it drives Steve insane. He thinks he might just love him, and then feels stupid because he definitely doesn’t. But…fuck, the way he touches him makes him see stars. It makes angels sing and play their trumpets, or whatever. It makes his toes curl. 

His stomach drips with warmth. He truly can’t believe himself. It can’t have been more than a minute and he’s already meeting Billy’s eyes and grinding up into him and _fuck,_ Billy gets so much deeper. He can feel him all the way inside, hard, moving. He’s full of him. Full of him in his head. 

He comes _hard._

Billy's too gone to hit his prostate on purpose and his hand is trembling on his cock, but he still hits it, still wrings out his cock like a wet rag. Calls Steve _baby_ in the most ruined voice he's ever heard. He knows what he’s doing so well he doesn't even have to think, and that brings a deep ache to Steve's chest. How Billy's showing him what it's like to be fucked and making him believe it. How he's giving up the spot he likes the most so Steve can explore himself deeper. 

It doesn't matter how much of that is true.

He says Billy's name over and over until it doesn't sound like a name anymore. 

_Billy. Billy. Billy. Billy. Billy._

Cum paints his stomach, and Billy groans when he sees. Scoops a little up with his finger, and pops it in his mouth. It’s so weird, Steve can't look away.

The weirdest part is that Billy doesn't look like he cares what it tastes like; it's all that it came from Steve. Nancy never did that. 

Billy's body tenses up, and his motions become rigid and frantic. Knowing he's about to come drives Steve into a frenzy right along with him. He never had to worry about how to please someone who's fucking him, if there even was a way. His dick is inaccessible and so is his ass. What does that mean for Steve? 

It means spontaneity and carelessness and pulling Billy in for a kiss. 

Billy whines. Whines. Whines. 

He grits his teeth and plants his head back down against Steve's neck. His hips snap forward once, twice, and then he's letting out the most beautiful moan Steve has ever heard. 

He comes inside of him. 

“Fuck.” 

With an exhausted sigh, he collapses on top of Steve. All 170 pounds of him. _Fucking ow._

“Billy, _move_.” 

“I don’t know if I can,” Billy mumbles into his shoulder. His breath moistens Steve’s already sweaty skin. His overwhelming body heat– _he doesn’t have a fever, does he?–_ burns his chest. Billy is a forest fire Steve wouldn’t want to escape from if he wasn’t _dying_. 

With a triumphant and _exaggerated_ shout, he rolls Billy off of him. A good six inches separates them. It feels like a mile, though. _Two_ miles, if you count their silence. Too far away. The only thing keeping it from being awkward is Steve’s deep anticipation. 

Fortunately, Billy relieves him. “So,” he says, “we gonna talk about this?” 

The bed squeaks as Steve rolls over. Faces The Beast. “Do we have to?” 

“Nope. But we should. Not that I’d think about it ever again if we didn't.” 

Fucking. Ow. 

“I don't fucking know why I let this happen.” 

Billy smiles cheekily. Fire spreads down his eyes in lines, laser-like. “I’m just kidding ‘ya, Stevie.” He yawns quite _adorably._ “Why _did_ you let me fuck you? I was, like, _sure_ you wouldn’t.” 

“Oh, so you’ve thought about this?” Steve says. He’s a master interrogator alright. Hawkin’s best. 

Billy is better. 

“Only as much as you have, babydoll,” he says, cocking an eyebrow like he’s mocking him. 

“Don’t call me that.” _Save it,_ he can’t help thinking. Feels guilty right away even though he can't stop thinking about how much he likes _babydoll_. 

Wicked fast, Billy’s got a cigarette between his lips. He toys with his lighter for a moment. Taunting, almost. Definitely taunting when he says, “I’ve thought about it, sure. Didn’t think it would happen, but I definitely thought about what people would think if they knew what I was thinking about it. Right?” 

“I think.” Steve cracks a playful grin. God, _playful_ hadn’t crossed him in years. 

Taunting Billy doesn't like _playful_. Taunting Billy scowls at him and says, "What, have you not thought about it?" 

Steve had definitely never thought about it. Except he fought him harder when he was lonely. He paired each blow with an insult just to see Billy laugh and always stayed close by him to smoke afterward. Whenever Billy bumped into him patronizingly, he replayed the exact moment fifty times over in his head. He complained about him to Robin until she called him _obsessed_ and then went home and jerked off thinking about a girl he talked to at a party with curly blond hair and blue eyes. 

He didn't think of fucking him, but it wasn't like he could say anything else. He just had the most intimate sex of his life with someone he had convinced himself he hated ever since the day he met him and he can't just _say_ he had a dream about kissing him and woke up crying. 

"No. Not of this." 

Tension weaves its way between the sheets. Steve gets goosebumps, it's so tense. And Billy is disturbingly quiet. And Steve is disturbingly scared. 

Billy talks first. "So you just thought about it today." Steve can tell his jaw is clenched by the flatness in _about_ and _just._ Waves of _something_ stream out of Billy and he wants to scream for not being able to place what it is. 

"I guess so," Steve says. Regrets it immediately. 

Especially when Taunting Billy rolls over and faces away from him. The _something_ makes sense now. Steve's heart breaks a little, just a crack–enough to burn–because Billy is terrified. 

He scoots closer until he can feel him tensing up against his side. So small he doesn't seem to be on his stupid pedestal anymore.

Steve always thought that pedestal was declaring Billy's superiority and putting him above everyone else. It was so fitting because he _was_ above everyone else. Perfect looks, charms, talents, everything. Ladies swoon over him and men look up at him with jealousy. It doesn't matter that his dad abused him or his mother left because he's charismatic and pretty. 

But he still isn't sitting above them. He isn't above _them_ alone: he's above the world. He looks down and every bit of life sneers at him provokingly. Every bit of love closes its eyes. Billy is teetering on the edge of his only supporter, and that supporter isn't even a _person_. It's that fucking pedestal, glueing him to the sky. 

Everyone else is living their lives normally underneath him. They walk through their routines as if he isn't there at all. Sometimes, when he blocks the sun in just the right way, they look up. Stare at him like he's in an art exhibit behind a glass wall, and admire him–he's beautiful–and make a note to come back to look at him that they lose seconds later. 

They're below him, but they're below him together. His stupid pedestal is undeniably isolating. 

Steve nudges his foot against Billy's, and does it again until Billy kicks him back. He loosens him up until he's so pliant he doesn't shove him away when he wraps an arm around his shoulders. Whispers a soft _"hey"_ and pulls him to his chest. His hair tickles his chin. _He says he usually likes the bottom, so here he is,_ he thinks. _He's in_ my _arms now_

The world gets less distant. So much less when Steve says, "I thought about kissing you," without thinking. It wasn't something he wanted to say, not at all. It was the kind of thing that made his lungs cave into themselves. He didn't even know what made him say it. Maybe it was how Billy hummed when Steve pulled him tight against his chest. It was the gentlest sound he'd ever heard. 

"Steve?" 

Big, strong, tough, _mean_ Billy Hargrove moves his legs so every single inch of his skin is touching Steve's. He's timid and it's so unfamiliar, but so _good._

"Yeah?"

"I'm staying the night." 

It doesn't seem possible, but somehow Steve holds him tighter. "Yeah." 

Steve thinks what they did will set in harshly and painfully, but, feeling Billy curled up next to him, he can’t feel anything but ease. 

“Hey! _Hey! What did I tell you?”_

In the evening downpour right outside the Starcourt Mall (newly rebuilt), Jim Hopper pries Billy and Steve apart. They’re barely bruised. 

“Get it the car,” Hopper says anyway. 

He drives them to Steve’s house. Unlike the last time, he doesn’t try and scold them into behaving. Only frowns discontentedly and, by the looks of it, _knowingly._ It’s the kind of frown that makes Steve nervous. 

All that nervousness seeps away, though, when Hopper parks at Steve’s house and lets them both out. “Be careful,” he says. He definitely knows. 

Billy doesn’t care though. When Hop drives away, he just laughs. 

“Free rides for life, baby!”

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to see more fics that weren't either rapey or incestuous so i thought i'd write my own. i hope you enjoyed! comment what you want next if you have any deep, dark wishes.


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